


Et in Arcadia ego

by minnie313



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnie313/pseuds/minnie313
Summary: Disclaimer : Hunger Games and all its characters and plots all belong to Suzanne Collins (and I am not she)Rating : T (although it might go up in later chapters)Summary : On the day of the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games, Effie Trinket is struggling. This will follow the original plot quite closely, but will fill the longs gaps between each of Effie’s appearances.





	1. Ibat obscura sola sub nocte per umbram

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHHH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The scream echoes through the room and Effie Trinket awakens with a start. District Twelve escort looks quite a sight. She is drenched in sweat, the bedsheets and her nightwear are sticking to her skin and restrain her.

She gently lays back on the bed, her head resting on the wet pillows, and she tries to put her breathing back under control.

 _“IN, OUT, IN, OUT, IN, OUT…”_ she thinks, and her respiration quietens progressively, the pain in her chest recedes as she does not feel like her heart is going to rip through her chest. Shakily, she sits up and removes the tangled bedsheets before getting up on less than stable legs. Her hand holds onto the wall as she makes her way to the bathroom, grateful that no one rushes to ascertain the origin of the scream. She knows she would not have managed to lie.

She turns on the faucet and cold water runs and falls on the porcelain basin. She puts her trembling hands under the stream and splashes her face. She closes her eyes and sighs.

Then, back in her bedroom, she glances at the clock : 3.30 am. Effie knows she will not fall back asleep. As she begins her routine, she hopes that there will be plenty of coffee at breakfast and during the rest of the day.

First, she checks her schedule three times, even though she knows it is as perfect as it could be. Then, she does some sort of physical activity. At home, she would go for aerobics or even fitness, but her bedroom on the train simply does not have enough space. She ends up doing a stretching session between her bed and her desk. Absentmindedly, she notes the softness of the dark purple carpet. Finally, she rearranges the room and chooses her clothes for the day before taking a much needed shower.

Today is Reaping day, so her outfit has to be particularly bright and extravagant. It not do to look anything but perfect in Capitol escort fashion. Effie Trinket, escort, is used to it now, and everything, from her pink wig to her puffy plum dress and painted lips are chosen accordingly to make sure she looks the part.

For a fleeting moment, Effie regrets that she has quit using sleeping pills. Then, she remembers that, a few years ago, she also had to quit the “antidepressants” – more like drugs inducing euphoric states, really. Her body had gotten used to the active ingredient in the sleeping pills and their effect on her body were blunted, at best.

Two months ago, Effie had almost slipped. The mistake averted, despite the exhaustion, she had decided to stop taking any substance altogether. Now, foundations and concealers were her best friends. She caked it on heavily, grateful for the very colourful make-ups that had been in fashion for a few decades. The make-up did its job perfectly, hiding the dark circles under her eyes.

And it is fortunate, for she knows she doesn’t have the strength to weave lies and craft words like she did when she first began as an escort, during the 61st Games, at the age of twenty-two. Then, the lies flowed easily, silly, convincing. Then, it made sense that she would be so worked up over losing a pair of unique shoes to an adversary, wearing an outfit screaming _last year_ so much that she would be ostracized, or that she would be nervous yet excited at the prospect of reaping victors and be promoted.

Not anymore. The lies, the crafted words, she would make up would be excuses too vain even for her little brain to see as valid. None of those things could actually produce nightmares, not like the ones she has. Indeed, they have nothing to do with the nightmarish visions, the gruesome tableaux, the grotesque operas of decay, blood, poison and rotting flesh that sing the names of her fallen tributes. Nothing to do with those hellish pictures fuelling her guilt and her fear. The plagues of unrest and constant tension, constant vigilance.

For in the Capitol, no one was allowed to be affected by the games, more so an escort, the epitome of bubbliness, of chirpiness and excitement, the archetype of the Capitol citizen in the Districts, the paragon of loyalty to Games and President. Any chink in the armour, and you would disappear without the slightest murmur.

7 am finds Effie Trinket in the restaurant car, positively ravenous. Her food intake remains nevertheless ladylike, despite the exhaustion induced hunger. As the attendants slowly join her, the escort puts on her most cheerful mask. She looks positively radiant, she smiles like a brainless puppet, her best excited mask on – who knew those acting classes would pay off so much?

She laughs away the remaining time before their arrival to District 12, and renews her ever optimistic wish that this time be the one. Trying to forget that she will most certainly reap two children unfit for both Capitol smoke and mirrors and arena, Effie focuses on making up cutting or sarcastic remarks for her meeting with Haymitch Abernathy, the district’s only living victor. With a fondness she did not wish to examine, she thought uncharacteristically that the annoying and sarcastic drunk might just manage to distract her from the ice engulfing her a little more as they approached District 12.


	2. Rex mersorum luctorum

Effie Trinket walks through the dusty road of the desolate district as quickly as her high heel shoes permit. The view, as usual, is morn – not that she had expected banners, decorations and flowers, this is the mining district after all. No one is about on the streets, which, she admits to herself, is how she prefers it. She does not spend too much time on what she sees as a small respite before the cold hatred sent towards her at the Reaping. She keeps a smile on her face and forces herself to think other thoughts. For a fleeting moment, she wonders if the small town ever buzzes with some sort of activity, before telling herself off for such a silly question : of course, it does, how could it be otherwise? She also tries to take an interest in the town’s architecture – if one could call it as such, but it only makes her think thoughts she is not supposed to have. While the districts are not as closely monitored as the Capitol, her status as _escort_ still makes her an object of interest for the government. And she is never alone.

She carefully maintains the image of the chirpy but slightly stressed out Capitol escort – _we absolutely must be on schedule, you know? Not a minute to spare or we’ll be late!_ – as the two Peacekeepers accompanying Haymitch’s prep team and herself lead them directly to Victor’s Village. All the while, she tweets and chirps with the team, like a fashioned-obsessed little bird.

As soon as they have arrived, the guards make their way to his house. However, she asks the prep team to wait for a few minutes :

-Daphnis, Apollo? Could you wait here while I make sure our Mentor is ready for company?

This stops one of the Peacekeepers, who turns towards her, confusion evident in his tone while the mask hides his face from view.

-Miss, are you sure? Mr Abernathy is known for being a drunk, and not very delicate…

She arches a delicate eyebrow, this one I obviously a new recruit, although he does seem to be more decent than the rest. His colleague answers with a laugh :

-We don’t follow her to the house, this lady here is used to Abernathy anyway. She always comes to shake the old wreck awake.

Although she knows Haymitch never did anything to keep a respectable front after his return home from his Games, she cannot let this go. How dare that man insult her Mentor ?! The prep team have the good sense to not look too amused when she gives the men a dressing down. She glares at the peacekeeper who just talked and he seems to sense he went a little too far.

-Listen here, Mister, Mr Abernathy has his faults but he is still a Victor. You have no right to speak of him in such a fashion.

The two men mutter some apology, while wondering why the escort has defended him in such a fashion. Maybe it was a Capitol thing, that Victors could not be commented in any negative way… Their puzzlement does not last for long, however, as they watch with bemusement the _little lady_ , as they call her, swiftly climb the stairs and ring. No answer. She frowns and knocks elegantly on the door, calls his name. Still no answer. The sounds echo through the empty courtyard, and she knows the Peacekeepers are smirking, trying hard not to laugh.

She huffs, annoyed that he would still make her look the fool after 13 years of working together. _“The insufferable man!”_

She pushes the door open without hesitating – she knows he never closes it, and enters the house. Although, as she closes the door behind her, she wonders if that is a suitable name. It looks rather like a den, an old drunken bear smelly den, she thinks as she pinches her nose.

The click-click of her heels on the unwashed floor seem loud, as if Effie was entering some sort of Forbidden Land. She snorts at such nonsense : _“It is more likely the eerie atmosphere of this dead room”_ she thinks. And indeed, what graces her eyes is a vision of death and otherworldliness. Layers upon layers of dust and grime, piles of dirty plates – some of which still contain food remains, full and empty bottles strewn alike across the room, and, slumped over the table like a Dead King sprawling on his throne is Mr Haymitch Abernathy himself, Victor of District 12 and drunk extraordinaire.

“Haymitch ?! HAY-MITCH ?!”

Her calls are to no avail : the ruler of this kingdom of drowned sorrows keeps on snoring,  dead to the world, lost in sweet oblivion. But not for long. Effie huffs again, really quite annoyed this time, and, as she looks around the room, trying to come up with a particularly cheeky way of raising him her eyes fall on a half drunk glass of unidentifiable spirit. _“Well it will serve him right ! If he cannot be up on time on the most important day of the year, and since he spends such an amount of time embarrassing ma, I will retaliate in a suitable manner. Watch me Gods, for Effie Trinket is getting revenge for this !”_

Stealthily, she takes the glass and throws the questionable liquid down the drain. Then, as silently as she can – now would not be a good time to wake him, it would ruin all her fun, Effie rinses the glass and fills it with water, smirking.

SPLASH!!!!

“HHHHHHHHHHH!!! What the Hell, woman ?!!!!”

“Hello to you too, Haymitch.”

“What the Hell are you doing in my house, Trinket ?!” To him, this was chasing a nightmare, only to encounter another one when he was awake.

“This is Reaping day, Haymitch. You could have at least the decency of being up and presentable for your prep team, and in a clean house ! You live in a pigsty !”

“Well, if I ever do, Princess, you’ll know you’re world is coming to an end!” he said, laughing at his own joke.

“It’s not funny, Haymitch ! You always do your best to embarrass me, I get it, I’m Capitol and you don’t like me. But this is your district, we’re talking about ! Can’t you not be concerned about the image you give it ?!”

Infuriated, he grabs her arm.

“Listen, princess…” he snarls.

“Shut up, Abernathy, I’m not in the mood for your childishness ! Take a shower and be presentable and on time at this year Reaping. Your prep team shall enter as soon as I get out. You better not embarrass me this year, or there will be Hell to pay !”

She snatches her arm back and leaves the house, slamming the door. As soon as the prep team enters, he knows that Effie Trinket, escort extraordinaire, is on her way back to the Hall of Justice. One Peacekeeper is left at his door to accompany the prep team back to the station.

As Daphnis and Apollo begin to fuss over him and lead him upstairs to his bathroom, he only wishes he could drown their cheerfulness in a bottle of Ripper’s brew. As it is, he waits for their departure with an increasing sense of urgency. These two annoy him the most, with their small talk and chirpiness. When he is left with them, he usually wishes for a bottle, if only to tune them out.

As soon as they are finished, Haymitch grabs a bottle and sits back down on the chair he vacated a few hours earlier.

 


	3. Bonum vinum laedificat cor hominis

Amber. A small amount of liquid amber, swirling around the glass like small waves. Going up and down, up and down until the man stops playing absentmindedly with his glass and downs half of it in one go.

His mind is fuzzy and his head is beginning to feel light enough that he can go out and do his thing… the mentor thing, to appear on the telly for all of Panem to see while clownish Effie Trinket cheerfully reaps two children from his home. He has promised her to be there – in truth, she has _told_ him to be there – and it is the only way of escaping his hellhole of a home. Well, exchanging it for another kind of hellhole is more like it. The sort with smokescreens and _miroirs aux alouettes_ , as they used to say in one the forgotten languages of the time before Panem.

He gets up quickly – too quickly as it is, and he has to steady himself on the table.

“Well, time to go ! “ he slurrs with such an amount of chirpiness it can only be ironic.

He barely checks his house before he goes out in the hot summer day, slamming the door behind him. He begins the journey between his house in Victor’s Village and the Justice Hall, sweating and cursing under his breath as the combination of the heat, the effort and the alcohol he has drunk are making him quite uncomfortable. For once, he will actually be glad to reach the Hall, because it means he will be able to sit down.

He finally arrives at the Town and two Peacekeepers escort him to the stage. _“Oops ! Looks like I’m late”_ he sniggers interiorly as he climbs up. He sees Effie Trinket in all of her Capitol glory, trying not to look entirely too annoyed with his state and… he hugs her. Or tries to, because she is embarrassed, he looks disgusting, and their actions are transmitted live throughout the whole country. She pushes him away rather abruptly, and he staggers to his seat.

As he sits down –drops himself in the armchair, really – he gazes at her again and thinks that she looks adorably flustered. Her wig is slightly askew, her nerves are obviously frazzled and he decides he likes to embarrass her. Not that he does not do that already, just not in front of so many people.

He zones out as the mayor finishes the usual introductions, and Effie calls out the first name. He is brought out of his alcoholic haze by a strong, confident, desperate cry : “I volunteer as tribute !”. He turns his head sharply. It is the Everdeen girl. He has known her parents, a lifetime ago. As she climbs up the stage, a surge of District pride goes through him… He yells at Effie, at the Capitol, and more generally makes a complete ass of himself.

As he is laying in the dirt, he thinks only that he cannot wait until the train to get another glass and annoy the hell out of his escort. He chuckles, knowing she had been absolutely ready to murder him verbally or otherwise. Somehow, he is looking forward to their usual fight. He loves to irk her, to push her buttons, it is really quite fun now that he thinks about it. Then his brain shuts down completely and he is lost to the world.


	4. Tributa Minotis

To say that Effie Trinket’s first meeting with her tributes had been nerve wracking was quite the euphemism. Simply climbing on that stage and reaping children from the little, scared 12 years old to the proud, angry 18 was nerve wracking. Especially since she knew the odds were not in the District’s favour.

Today, however, it had been worse than that. She had been feeling antsy ever since she had left Haymitch with Daphnis and Apollo. She had been more nervous than usual when she had climbed up the stage because Haymitch had not yet been there. But it was the Time of the Reaping and Haymitch Abernathy was late. It did not bode well at all for the rest of the day. His arrival was both a relief and a curse because he had to go and embarrass her in public, before all the citizens of Panem, no less.

Then, she had reaped a tribute : a Primrose Everdeen. When the girl had slowly made her way to her, Effie had felt her stomach contract into knots. The child looked scared, the silence was heavy. Primrose Everdeen would be another innocent taken away from people who loved her. But then, the sister had volunteered and Effie had been moved, really moved as she had not been in a long time. Hope had flared in her that Panem was not entirely rotten, that District 12, _her_ District had a potential winner. Katniss Everdeen looked determined and strong enough to win.

And then, Haymitch had to ruin it by making a complete ass of himself _again_ – as if the hug had not been enough ! She had been ready to murder him. Did he really have no sense of propriety, of self-respect ? Scratch that, did he really have a death wish ? Did he want to inflict punishment on all of his compatriots ? _and her_ she wanted to add, but knew he barely tolerated her at best – and that was when she helped get sponsors to keep the children alive.

Oh! And the boy… Peeta Mellark had looked stunned for a moment, as if he did not fully grasp what had just happened when she had read his name. He quickly recovered however and joined them. He looked nice, sweet even, and looked fit enough to train with a career… Maybe he too had a chance.

Effie’s relief had been short lived however when she had eaten dinner with them. Haymitch, probably raiding the bar car, had not appeared and, if the boy was nice – which confirmed her earlier thoughts, the girl was positively distrustful and defiant. And they both had no small amount of disrespect for their Mentor – truth to be told, he had quite the hand in that, too.

_“Frankly, getting drunk as a skunk and then pass out in his own vomit right in front of two mocking teenagers ! I’m going to murder him tomorrow, as surely as I told them off today, or my name isn’t Effie Trinket !!”_

They had dared laugh at him, and she had lost it. Not that Haymitch was not a misanthropist drunk, but she would be damned if she let two _children_ make fun of him that way. And she really did not have to justify it ! In truth, her protectiveness towards him was not something she liked to dwell on. She had an inkling that she would not entirely like what she would find if she analysed it.

Effie closes her eyes and sighs. She really cannot just leave him to choke on his own vomit, however tempting that might sound to her annoyed and frustrated brain. She opens the door, ready to find Haymitch and put him to bed. Right before her stands Peeta, hand curled in a knocking position, looking slightly awkward. She arches one eyebrow.

“Effie, I just wanted to tell you that I took care of Haymitch and put him to bed.”

She stares at him blankly for a few seconds : no other tribute has ever done that.

“Um… Thank you, Peeta, but you didn’t have to do that, you know. I usually make sure that he doesn’t die on us. It’s part of my duties as an escort.” she says with an awkward smile.

“It was no problem, really. Anyway, I needed to apologise for …”

“Just remember what I said, Peeta, he could mean life or death for either of you in the arena.”

He quickly leaves after that and she battles with herself for what seems like ages : should she go check on him ? Or should she not ? In the end, she is so anxious to see if he is alright, that she goes.


End file.
